


One Tuesday Too Much

by faintlyfreckled



Category: Supernatural
Genre: M/M, Wincest - Freeform
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2012-07-07
Updated: 2012-07-07
Packaged: 2017-11-09 08:31:32
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,344
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/453458
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/faintlyfreckled/pseuds/faintlyfreckled
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Written for this prompt: Set during one of the Tuesdays of 'Mystery Spot'. Sam fucks Dean (consensually) because he knows Dean won’t remember the next day.</p>
            </blockquote>





	One Tuesday Too Much

Sam thinks that if he has to go through this again he’ll be certifiably insane. Being what they’ve been through already, having been born a Winchester, you’d think that this was just a little bump in the road. Compared to demons, werewolves, and vampires, this would be a piece of cake. Only… it isn’t.

Watching Dean die over and over… and over. It hits a little too close to home. Dean’s going to Hell. Whether he wants to admit it, Sam is going to lose his brother to the underbelly, the hot box. Hell. The electrocution, spoiled tacos and old man driver are indeed a cake walk compared to the inevitable. But, there’s only so much a man can take.

“Rise ‘n shine, Sammy!” Dean bellows happily, sitting on the edge of the bed beside Sam’s. He’s tying his shoe, something he’s watched Dean do a million times over already, only this time it rips him apart. Sam plays the role, saying how if he has to listen to Asia one more time he’s going to kill himself, the words echoing soundly in his head. If only Dean knew how true those words really were.

Sam watches with a bittersweet fondness as Dean turns the volume up. “What? I’m sorry, I can’t hear you.” Then, Dean’s lip syncing, serenading Sam with what has become Dean’s own personal death march. The thought makes Sam’s stomach turn.

“Dean,” Sam chokes out, rubbing his eyes as his feet hit the floor as he turns the radio off. He feels about a decade older, what having to chase his brother all around town and watching him bake, splat or choke to death. It’s nerve wracking, to say the least, and it shows on his face.

Dean’s on guard in a second but tries to keep the situation light. “I’m hungry, Sam. What d’you say to breakfast, huh?” He asks casually, but he’s eyeing Sam with a concern only Dean could master. It’s got a hint of coolness to it, like Dean’s trying not to lose his shit, only he totally is. Sam sees right through it, having practiced his entire life, regardless of the times he’s seen it in every Groundhog morning he’s had.

Sam swallows hard, pressing his lips together as he grips his knees in a weak attempt to ground himself. He’s already tried just sitting here silently. Dean got sick of staring at him, waiting for him to do… something and before Sam could stop him he was tossing a dagger around for entertainment. Long story short, it didn’t end well.

By now, Dean’s converted to full blown worrisome big brother and he’s seated on the bed across from Sam. “Hey, you okay?” Dean asks softly, placing his hand on Sam’s shoulder and leaning closer into him. The weight is heavy and real, the heat provoking a few stray tears to fall. He’s cracking now, he can feel it.

“Do you love me?” Sam asked suddenly, wiping his eyes quickly. The push and pull of watching his brother die has brought him to his breaking point, but he’s done following the viscous circle. Besides, if it continued, Dean wouldn’t remember anyway.

Dean stiffens, his expression hardening. He squeezes Sam’s shoulder before letting go, his classic shit-eating grin sliding over his face when he’s trying to shield himself from something. Sam knows that one well, too. “What kinda question is that, Sam?” Dean asks, a touch of hurt in his tone. Dean’s right. Sam should know, but he needs to hear it.

Sam fights the urge to drop to his knees at his brother’s feet. Instead, he fights out a strangled laugh. It’s nothing to laugh about, but it’s either that or cry. “Just answer it, man.” Sam presses, meeting Dean’s gaze.

Dean licks his lips and Sam tracks the movement with his eyes. “You know I do, Sammy.” He replies, his voice full of such conviction that Sam believes him, even if he didn’t say it outright. It’s more than good enough, as far as Sam’s concerned.

He shoves forward, not wanting to lose the momentum he’s created. “I know…” Sam assures his brother, watching as Dean visibly relaxes. Like Sam could ever forget. “Would you do anything for me, without an explanation, if I wanted you to?”

Sam’s question causes Dean to pause, his brow furrowing with worry and confusion again. He opens his mouth to respond, realizes he doesn’t have anything and chuckles softly as he wipes his face with his palm. “Sounds more like a question I’d ask you, Sam, but… yeah, I guess.” Dean tries for casual but it’s apparent that he’s anything but.

Sam nods, chewing on the inside of his cheek. “…but you’d— if you didn’t agree with it— you’d stop me, right?”

Dean simply blinks, leaned forward with his elbows resting on his knees. “You’re not making any sense and I haven’t even had my coffee yet.” Dean replies plainly, choosing his words carefully. “Give it to me straight, man.”

Deciding, Sam moves forward as his mouth finds Dean’s. One hand clamps on Dean’s leg as the other grips his neck. His brother tenses, lips unmoving and stiff under Sam’s, but doesn’t shove Sam off either. It’s a start that Sam takes advantage of, trying to get Dean to respond to the kiss.

A second later, Sam feels Dean’s hands spread wide on his chest and his heart soars, elated. That is, until Dean forcibly removes Sam from his personal space with a strong shove. Dean’s eyes are wild and unreadable, boring into Sam in such a way that Sam’s never experienced before. It takes Sam’s breath away and he smothers the faint cry of victory in his gut when he realizes he does know that look.

Want.

At this point, one wrong move could set Dean off and trigger another death. Sam wasn’t sure which was worse; watching Dean die all over again or being rejected. Just because Dean wants doesn’t mean Sam gets.

Sam stumbles backward, catching himself on the edge of the other bed just shy of falling on his ass. He feels underwhelmed, considering. It’s what he’s wanted since he was fifteen but too chicken shit to go after it. Suddenly, seeing that deer-caught look on Dean’s face makes him want to wake up to Heat of the Moment all over again.

“Dean,” Sam whispers carefully, moving deliberately as Dean shoots to his feet.

“The fuck?!” Dean shouts, throwing his arms up in the air to emphasize the fact Dean is beyond confused at this point. He wants answers, of course, but the only thing Sam can focus on is that flicker of heat in Dean’s eyes. Oh, he’s seen it before, but never directed at him.

Without thinking, Sam steps closer. He places his hands on Dean’s arms as he goes for another kiss. Sam catches the corner of Dean’s mouth before Dean turns away, but he doesn’t push Sam off again. Sam presses his forehead to the stretched line of Dean’s neck, closing his eyes. “You don’t have to.”

As he speaks, he can feel Dean’s fingers balling the cotton of his t-shirt. The fabric bunches on Sam’s back as Dean’s grip tightens. “If you don’t want to, I don’t want you to.” Sam offers, giving Dean a clear exit and he tells himself he won’t fall to pieces if Dean takes it.

The seconds stretch into minutes before Sam feels his shirt rising. A familiar chill glides down Sam’s spine, pooling in his gut as Dean slips his t-shirt over his head. Sam is slaughtered by an ocean of emotions as he fights both tears and a goofy grin from appearing on his face. He leans in, intending to get another kiss going when Dean dodges again.

Crestfallen, Sam takes a defeated step away from Dean and is surprised that Dean catches his wrist. Dean’s fingers squeeze reassuringly, Sam’s eyes catching Dean’s as his brother communicates everything he can’t say out loud. “Don’t kiss me, alright?” Dean asks and it sounds like an order.

Sam nods immediately, not wanting to jeopardize this little window of opportunity Dean’s just offered him. He moves closer, Dean’s fingers still wrapped protectively around Sam’s wrist as he tugs at the hem of Dean’s shirt slowly. Each movement reveals more of Dean’s scarred yet perfect flesh and Sam’s heart stops when Dean assists in removing it entirely.

Sam’s hard instantly. He’s seen Dean more than naked thousands of times, but it’s never been like this. This time, it’s Sam undressing Dean. Dean allowing him to do so and it’s everything he hoped it would be and more.

“This okay?” Sam asked, glancing at Dean through his bangs as he fingers the button Dean’s jeans. In response, Dean mimics the action and counters by not waiting for Sam to give the green light. Only then does he realize that he’s only wearing a flannel pair of pajama pants, now around his ankles and it’s all teeth and hands from there.

Sam slams Dean against the low dresser, the lip catching the back of Dean’s thighs as he struggles to get free of the denim. Stumbling in the process, Sam bites a prominent line from Dean’s neck to his shoulder as Dean yanks his feet out of his boots.

Dean moans out a laugh, air catching in his throat as Sam breaths heavy and warm into his skin. Sam’s tongue rides the jagged line of a scar stretching from his shoulder, down his collarbone and heading south in a sharp curve. Dean bucks his hips, stepping out of his jeans as he hooks his thumbs in the waistline of his own boxer briefs.

Sam whimpers as if he’s in pain, pressing his forehead to Dean’s shoulder as he makes quick work of removing his own boxers. Then, he’s naked and Dean’s naked… and therein lies the problem. He’s staring down at his cock right next to Dean’s, both hard, and he can hardly believe this is actually happening. Sam’s been thinking about this since he was fifteen, but it was never quite like this. The hesitation doesn’t get by Dean, either.

“It’s just—”

“Just what, Sam? Either you wanna do this or you don’t.”

It’s all Sam needs to reach down and wrap his hands around his brother’s dick, thumbing over the head like he owns it and Dean starts to melt under him. “Fuck, took you long enough, asshole.” Dean said under his breath, humming with pleasure as his hips move with the slow, lazy movements of Sam’s hand.

Dean’s eyes slip closed as he reaches for Sam, enveloping Sam’s cock in his hand. The skin of his palm is rough with wear; callouses and poorly healed scars are evident on the sensitive flesh and Sam relishes in it. It’s nothing like the feminine touch he’s used to and that’s exactly what he was counting on.

“God, Dean,” Sam keens at his brother’s touch, sinking his teeth into his bottom lip to keep from losing it right then. It’s all too real, too fresh while somehow familiar. Even so, the most vivid images of his imagination could create something like this.

Dean chuckles in heated amusement, watching Sam come undone. “This what you wanted, Sammy?” He asks, voice guttural and possessive.

“Fuck, yeah…” Sam replies, his hand moving erratically over Dean’s length. There’s no finesse or flair and Sam wonders how Dean can concentrate on what he’s doing because Sam’s completely falling apart. He ignores the smug laugh Dean responds with because it feels too fucking good to reprimand him for it.

Dean’s legs wrap loosely around Sam’s and he slots almost seamlessly between them. His brother’s fingers slip from his cock and Sam bites back the pained whimper in his throat. Dean grinds his hips against Sam’s, teasing a moan out of Sam as he bites his lip.

No, this isn’t how Sam envisioned this at all, but he’s certainly not going to let that stop him.

”The fuck you waitin’ for, a written invitation?” Dean hisses, frustration evident in his tone. It comes out like a growl and threatens to turn Sam’s knees to jell-o.

“I’m— It’s just—” Sam sputters, his face coloring.

“For fuck’s sake! Nut up and do it already.”

Sam’s voice catches in his throat, glancing around for… what, exactly? He still has his brother’s dick in his hand, stroking lazily, pulling the faintest of sounds from Dean has he chews on his bottom lip. Then, a bottle is slipped into his free hand, or rather, a can.

Looking down, Sam’s eyes widen. “You serious?” Sam asks worriedly. Somehow, Sam’s not sure that the oil they use to clean the handguns won’t cause more harm than good, but Dean shrugs like it’s no big deal.

“Thing says it’s not toxic.” Dean points as he takes hold of Sam’s cock again, rough and demanding. Like Sam could refuse after being handled like that. “You wanna pussy out, that’s your call.”

A quick once over of the bottle and Sam’s honestly torn. Technically, Dean’s right. It says non-toxic right on the label but, on the other hand, a cleaner is a cleaner. In the end, his libido wins out over common sense as Dean makes a show of spitting in his palm to persuade Sam it was a good idea.

“Shit, yeah, okay.” Sam agrees, voice pitched low as he uncaps the gun oil.

“That’s my boy, Sammy.” Dean rasps approvingly, a small smile spreading over his face as Sam pours a bit of the liquid on his fingers. He tests it, knowing the density and feel on his skin from dozens of gun cleanings, but it feels entirely new now.

He meets Dean’s eyes. “You’re sure.”

“I’m gonna strangle you.” Dean groans, grabbing a chunk of Sam’s hair to use as leverage to bring him closer.

Sam hisses in pain before it melts into pleasure, inhaling the scent of Dean’s skin and sweat at his neck as he blindly navigates his fingers. “You done this before?” Sam asks without thinking, realizing this is Dean he’s talking to, and his brother tenses slightly before relaxing again.

“No,” Dean replies sharply, shaking his head. His hand is still on Sam’s cock, grip almost painful, but he’s not pumping his fist anymore. “No.” He repeats.

This time, Sam nods, finding the ring of muscle easily enough. He knows he’s got it when Dean twitches slightly but otherwise he doesn’t react. Sam goes slow, experimentally, equal parts not wanting to hurt Dean and also not knowing what this stuff will do. Dean grits through two fingers like a fucking champ, leaving Sam impressed and fascinated, all the while no hang ups as far as lube choice is concerned.

“Just go for it, Sam,” Dean instructs, rocking closer to Sam as he upends the bottle of gun oil all over Sam. Sam takes the bottle, pouring a handful in his palm and slicks himself up.

“You’re—”

“Sam, I swear, if you ask if I’m sure one more goddamn time I’m gonna— oh fucking hell.” Dean tries to threaten Sam but it turns on him when Sam does as he’s told. He hasn’t pushed all the way in, only a little more than the head, but Dean’s breathing loudly through his nose and it’s concerning Sam.

“I’m hurting you, man.” Sam expressed anxiously, his face softening. “We can stop if you want t—”

“Move, damn you.” Dean grits out, latching onto Sam’s shoulders with as much authority as Dean always exudes.

It took Sam’s brain a couple stalled seconds to play catch up, but he bucked his hips the moment it clicked what Dean was instructing him to do. Sam cried out in sudden intense pleasure as he sank into Dean.

Dean, however, let go a laundry list of downright sinister curses as he body fought tooth and nail against the intrusion. His words slurred, a strangled groan vibrating in his throat as Sam pauses to let Dean adjust.

“Don’t just fucking stand there. Move!” Dean barks huskily, his bruising grip on Sam’s shoulders slipping as he readjusts and bucks into Sam’s hips. Dean’s nostrils are still flared, reminding Sam of a cornered animal, but he’s already come this far. Turning back now is no longer an option.

Sam’s pelvis snaps forward, showing Dean exactly how he feels about his brother’s domineering tenancies and he had the gall to laugh smugly in Sam’s face. “Knew you had it in you, bitch.” Dean chuckles proudly, his grip relocating to the back of Sam’s neck and one of his hips.

He know he shouldn’t, but Sam caves, laughing breathlessly with a feeble ‘jerk’ as his hips move awkwardly for a moment before finding a smooth rhythm that has Dean clinging to Sam like his life depends on it. Sam swallows the idea that, maybe it does.

The gun oil fills Sam’s nose and lungs, remembering all the times he sat watching Dean clean the weapons and wishing his hands were doing anything but. “God, this smell,” Sam breathed in deep, emphasizing his words. “Smells like you. Makes me think of all those times I wished you’d let me have this.”

“Yeah?” Dean replies instantly, his seductive tone shooting straight to Sam’s dick. “Better make it worth it, Sammy, because there’s gonna be hell to pay tomorrow.”

Tomorrow. Sam tries not to think about the fact there might not be a tomorrow.

They’re both sweating, muscles engaged as they move in synchronized pleasure, chasing their orgasms. Dean reaches between them, taking his own cock in his hand as he rides Sam without resolve. He’s jerking himself off, making sounds Sam’s all too familiar with, bringing Sam closer to the edge.

“Dean, I’m gonna—”

“Yeah, Sammy? Christ,” Dean chokes on his words, gasping for air as his hand slicks up and down his dick. “Do it. Shit, fucking— do it Sam.”

That’s all it took and Sam was coming hard into Dean, feeling every aftershock as Dean tensed all around him, chasing his own climax that made Sam want to jump right into another round.

“Holy shit.” Dean shouted loudly, a sloppy grin plastered to his face as Sam locked his knees to keep from falling on his ass. Sam laughed tiredly into Dean’s shoulder, licking the beads of sweat off Dean’s collarbone as Sam takes a step back to pull out. It’s not the best idea, he soon learns, both their bodies sweat slicked and spent and Sam looses his hold on Dean’s waist.

Dean slips off the dresser, Sam fumbling to catch his brother before he connects, but he’s not fast enough. Dean’s temple hits hard on the corner of the nightstand, jerking Dean’s head into an awkward, sickening angle before it all goes black.

The next thing Sam knows, he’s lying on his back in bed, fully clothed as the alarm clock goes off. Asia sounds loudly through the room, invading every cell in Sam’s body as he fights back a murderous scream.

“Rise ‘n shine, Sammy!” Dean howls with delight, tying his boots like he’s not got a care in the world.

“I fucking hate Asia.” Sam hisses, his voice venomous. He’s definitely going to go mad in this endless loop of losing Dean. Having him, then losing him, over and over and fucking over.

“What? I’m sorry, I can’t hear you.” Dean crows, turning up the music as he headbangs wildly, heading for the bathroom to brush his teeth. Sam knows, like he knows every move Dean’s made since he can remember, that Dean brushes his teeth after he dismisses Sam’s aversion to Asia.

Sam thinks that maybe, just maybe, this nightmare will end if he stays true to his word. One more time hearing Asia, and that’s it. Then, he thinks about putting the barrel to his temple and it brings back the oil, the last death his brother had to go through and Sam rolls over.

He can’t bring himself to lose his brother this Tuesday.


End file.
